SPOKEN WORD PIECE….

DON’T MAKE ME OVER:
You see these broad fake smiles, not the real struggle
you see face, not the intricate mentally muddle
you only decipher me through sight, not in mind
You vision is warped, stuck in time
You cant see beyond rumours or lies.
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What you know bout me….
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where were you in the decades of mornings, noons and nights
where were you in decades of personal struggles and fights
where were you in decades of hurt and with healing still in sight
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You still see vanity over pride
You still see what glitters and avoid whats inside
You still cannot see beyond your personality override.
don’t make me over in your mind
interaction takes time
I have a story, you can own yours too
even though you judge me I won’t judge you.
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What you know about me….
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I’ve done the decades of morning, noon and nights
I still bear the struggles and hold the fight
I still hurt and aim for the healing sight.
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where were you in the decades of mornings, noons and nights
where were you in decades of personal struggles and fights
where were you in decades of hurt and with healing still in sight
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EXCLUSIVE

The amount of notepads is growing past limited publications. Here, I am staring at the growing pile with another notebook in hand to add to the ever growing pile. It is officially time to get back to work and re-sort the pile of stories no one has ever read. Utilising my old stories for an anthology is the idea I have been playing with if I can find a few consistent themes. As I have never entered any sort of competition it seems befitting to use them for something other than dust collectors.

However, after years of working on my WordPress Site I have decided to do something different with the scribbles on scraps of paper.

Gathering my best shorts and instagram posts I will be creating the ultimate journal for YOU.

WATCH THIS SPACE ……SOON

I will be giving away five Journals created by yours truly.

WORD TO MY BERRIES JOURNAL will be 52 weeks of MADNESS AND SCRIBBLES….

WHAT WILL YOU WRITE IN YOURS?

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© W O R D B E R R Y
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DISTORTED ILLUSIONS….

Once she had been good; Once……

They had been in this together every step of the way apart from that fateful day. Willingly blinded by her illicit seduction and indecent proposals he had been lost in lust. Anything she requested of him was a Must! Crowned, undoubtedly his Queen he had trusted her with his very being.
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Standing at the bottom of the steps, handcuffed and disappointed he could blame no one but himself.  That was the price he had paid for worshipping wealth. There were warning signs and rumours she wanted him dead. The disbelief rules the cynical thought process in his head. They were ride or die, Bonnie and Clyde yet she was the farthest from his side.
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Now, he was paying a bigger price for a small indiscretion and she was as free as a bird. The Good Girl gone bad, but his reincarnation had yet occurred. Retain beyond the street curbs he kept his ear open for anything he heard because one day, very soon he would return.
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Her face had aged and her body too, but she was still the woman he had came for.Nights dreaming of her face and the moment they met again burned within the fire in his chest. There was restitution due, but he only required retribution.


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FREE….

Lately the air smelt sickly sweet, a nauseating scent she had come to bear these past few months. The earth smooth beneath her feet covered the hem of her skirt, moving into the field she breathed heavily. Long days, short nights and the lash of a whip were all she could see between the blades of cane.

Beneath the boiling sun sweat dripped from her brow and pooled beneth her armpits as she steadied her cutlass once more. They had counted heads and divided families the seven nights before, sullen faces and screams of fear tearing through the night as they were carried away. Their screams still rang between her lobes as if she bore their pain.

She had a secret as precious as the sun.

Just like the moon, her body was changing but she didn’t tell a soul. The third moon had appeared the night before, gliding into her window frame like an old friend. No longer a slither or cresent, she shine broad and bright. Sleep had called her attention just before the morning sun had appeared to soon.

Almost six foot tall and the colour of sand she stood out in the river of green. Some had spoken of her beauty as a curse and her tongue as a disaster but she had learned quickly. Sold into the Smith estate she clung to memories of her mother as she grew past the smallest tree. Ripping through the cane piece like a man stalks fell at her feet easily. A clearing appeared between the cane and for a moment she was lost in a memory.

He chin above her head, his hand upon her bosom, it felt so real. His fingertips tearing at her flesh, while the blades of bitter grass took residence between her lips. Cold grass and warm hands upon her flesh as she lavished beneath his manhood. There she had found many things she would like to undiscover but the seed had prepetated her womb and life was blossoming inside. There had been many stories of love in the feild, but she had never felt the love they spoke of until now.

Slicing through the air as swiftly as her cutlass the whip tore through her dress before she could think. Squealing as a pain she had come to reconigse tore through her body. Breathing deeply she let the cutlass fall, silence filled her ears as she clutched her stomach. The whip slice through the air faster than her cutlass stripping a

If there had been a God they spoken of she would call for him, but she could only think of the baby pushing his way into the world.

There was no recollection of returning home or the birth of her son as she faded in and out of consciousness. Trying to clear the fog in her head she lah shivering as her body heat rose and fell. Days beyond his birth she rose into the heat and the sickly sweet smell was no longer sickly. The famaliar scent of cane was comforting before she remembered his name, his face and his scent. Her stomach tightened in memory of him.Clinging to him with every inch of her core she couldnt save him from his fate. Perfect in everyway he came silently. As he lay still and lifeless she held back the burning tears and smiled.

In death he was free……

Free

..

Please do not be offended by this post! As a mother who has buried children I am sensitive to the fact that some my find this post offensive. However, it is not my intention to offend!

Creativity is an art! Sometimes it is magical other times it is horrific..

@

HEY….

“Do not let others diminish the opinion you have of yourself.”

In my experience people are quick to throw judgement and discuss the intricate details of other peoples closets while keeping their doors padlocked and shut. Or, there are those who prey upon your insecurities and assessing weights, growth and size.
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Back in the day, they use to call me big eyes, a remark that I would hate, but look at me now. My eyes are one of my favorite features. They have explored several parts of the world and seen many things..
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People will always have things to say but rarely tell you that you are beautiful in your own skin!

If we spent more time uplifting and empowering others the world would be a much better place….
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So, from me to you…


“Hey Beautiful.” 珞
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@OFFICIALWORDBERRY
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#wordberry #blkcreative #blackliterature #fictionreads #selfie #editing #selflove #blackwomen  #amwriting #love #authorsofinstagram  #eyes #beauty #filters #blackgirlmagic #womenwhowrite #plussize #lips #instawrites #writerselfie #quoteoftheday  #menalin #inspiration #writers #iwrite #amwriting #selfappreciation

OCEANS LEDGE


The air was different,
They were different far away from society; Sat beside the ocean, Quietly.
Huddled against the breeze of the waves;
Truths told and Promises made
A love remembered,
A motion felt,
Grateful for the hand they had been dealt.
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I STAND BEFORE YOU

ATTENTION:

I stand before you,
unchained
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I stand before you,
unnamed
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I stand before you,
maintained
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I stand before you,
unfazed
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I stand before you,
proud
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I stand before you,
loud
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I stand before you,
wild
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I stand before you, smile….
.
.
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ᴺᴱᵛᴱᴿ ᴸᴱᵀ ᵀᴴᴱ ᵂᴼᴿᴸᴰ ᴰᴱᶠᴵᴺᴱ ᵞᴼᵁ, ᵞᴼᵁ ᴰᴱᶠᴵᴺᴱ ᵞᴼᵁᴿˢᴱᴸᶠ.
….
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@officialwordberry
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SIGHT

He saw a woman laid in bed
He didn’t enquire about what was in her head
He saw white pillows and ruffled sheets
He didn’t know this she would repeat
as he stepped into her liar
her fangs appeared
the black widow is never black, my dear
no evidence of her crime exists
disguarded he could no longer resist
buried among the dead, removed from her head
he saw nothing in death….

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WHITE CLOUDS

Rosemary paused as her little heart beat rattled in her chest, one of her parents had awoken. Terrified her night feeds would be discovered she removing her tiny fingers from the packet. Clutching the two biscuits she had managed to snipe seconds before the creak of the kitchen door had stilled her she waited. There was nowhere to run in the tiny larder, stuck between a scolding and the door, Rosemary stayed close to the wall her tiny feet covered in flour. If she was caught in here there would be hell to pay, her father always insisted on ladylike behaviour and eating after dark was not one of them.

Carefully, Rosemary stepped closer to the door, listening to her parents through the crack while sucking the edge of the malt biscuit.

Unaware of listening ears Sarah sucked in her breath and turned on the kettle. Standing beside the sink she shook her head in annoyance. The news last night had predicted a roit and in the pit of her stomach Sarah felt physically sick. A man had died and again no one was taking responsibility. Everytime Peter, her husband left to parade the streets like a proud peacock she feared days like these. The people were angry and they had every right to be.

Peter wanted no talk of retribution or restitution, instead he preferred to ignore injustice. Together they listened to the live radio announcements following the terror happening on the streets. Reports continued to filter through the static as the people fought back.

While Sarahs blood boiled, Peter remained indifferent.

Laying awake in the dark Sarah willed herself to slept but sleep refused to come. There were houses burning, shops being looted and more innocent people injured. The call had come, no warnings just a shrill ring breaking through the middle of the night. Fumbling for the phone Peter answered with that new accent he had mastered; she knew it was no one she knew.

“Yes sir I will be right there.” Peter responded.

Watching Peter dress for work so calm and unaffected, the sight of him also begun to nauseate her. Why could he not see they were on the wrong side of the war.

Now standing in the kitchen bear foot she couldn’t hold the burning words at the edge of her tongue.

“This is wrong Peter and you know it. That man died on the street like a dog. How could you defend them.”

“I took an oath to serve and protect, Sarah.”

“What about your oath to me?”

Peter sighed, crossing the threshold he took a seat at the table. Avoiding the burning gaze boring into his soul Peter pushed his left foot into his work boot. Ever since he had joined the force he had a sense of pride the past had tried to bury.

“Did you hear me!” Sarah snapped impatiently. “These are our people.”

“Dont start that nonsense again, we made a choice.” Peter reminded her sternly.

“Peter we made choices out of nesscity, times have changed.”

Peter huffed, ” You really wanna go back to the slum.”

Sarah lowered her gaze, she hated when he spoke like that.

“I want to see my mother, she is getting old now.”

“I heard you Sarah but I don’t think you thought this through.” Peter said as his tied his laces neatly. “Your mother would rather you stay here I believe that with all my heart.” he added.

“Of course I have thought this through. This life is a dream Peter. A fantasy that can’t turn into a nightmare at any moment!.”

“Keep your voice down.” Peter snapped. “I will not have Rosemary upset tonight.”

Rubbing her swollen stomach unconsciously she hummed a few lullaby notes to sooth the tiny fumble of hands and feet. Sarah folded her arms across her growing belly and frown.

“I want to go home now, Peter. It’s time!” Sarah hissed.

Peter tilted his head to one side and stared at his wife intently. “I dont understand the sudden urge to return to a place that had never been good to us. Tell me what this is about?”

Sarah sighed heavily and moved away from the kitchen table, fumbling with the wet forks on the drainer.

“I just think we can go back home now that’s all.”

Peter stood and moved in her direcrion. Placing his hands around her waist he pulled her closer. Reluctantly Sarah relaxed in his arms and inhaled the scent of talcum powder and vaseline.

“Listen baby, we owe it to our children to give them the best life and this is it,” Peter sighed. ” Our children will have the best and attend the best schools. They will be educated and free to travel the entire world without restrictions. This is the best place for them.” He continued.

“Is it!” Sarah replied sadly. ” A life without family and a mother to scared to leave the house incase she puts a foot wrong.” Sobbing Sarah wiped her angry tears and said honestly, “I’m scared Peter, what if I say something, what if I say something.”

“You must not think that in that manner.”

Sarah shrugged, it had been six whole years since she had seen her mother and father or anyone who resembled family. Peter had become her everything and the house had become a beautiful birdcage. Trapped inside the confides of its walls with only herslf to talk too Sarah had slowly doubted her sanity. Now, she was with child again and she needed her mother more than ever. Stepping out of his warm embrace she took a seat.

“How do you do it?” She asked

“Do what?”

“Pretend..”

Kissing his teeth loudly Peter walked past his wife and exited the kitchen. Placing her palms upon the table Sarah examined every inch of her hands for traces of her truth but it never appeared. The red ruby blood that ran through her veins had been striped of her menalin and her pale skin a vision of whiteness that oppressed her blackness. The past didn’t matter as much as their future did. Everyday she thought of the life she was carrying and what if.

What if they wasn’t lucky this time. Rosemary had olive skin and pale green eyes. During the summer she had to be covered from head to foot or lathered in sun cream. Nothing was simple in the world they had created for themselves. No matter what Peter said, Sarah intended to go home.

Standing at the kicthen door Peter cursed her weakness. Life had become comfortable, a place of safety and warmth that they could never achieve on the other side. Here, in his world he was a man, equal to his counterparts. There he would be another face amid the unemployment line. Another broken man living in the belly of the beast and feeding of the scraps of another man’s table. There was no way on God’s green earth he would ever return home.

Rosemary placed the last of the biscuit in her mouth and suckled lightly as her eyes closed slowly.

Pushing back her chair Sarah took a deep breath.

“Peter, I know your behind the door I can see your shadow. I brought a ticket for all of us to back home, I’m trying of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m a black…..”

Peter stormed into the kitchen so fast Sarah stepped back and stumbled into the kitchen counter. Red with rage Peter flew into his wife and clutched her neck tightly.

Startled, Rosemary peered through the crack and gasped. Turning to the left Peter stared into his daughters eyes and released Sarah’s neck. Pushing open the door Rosemary padded across the kitchen floor and stared down at her mothers lifeless body.

“Mother.”

Sarahs eyes remained open, unblinking.

Looking at the damage he done Peter shook Sarahs shoulders but her eyes stayed the same, staring back accusingly. It was too late.

As the morning sun rose and the birds began to chirp outside, Rosemary stared out of the kitchen window. Following the plumes of grey smoke rising into the air she watched ad they tainted the clear white clouds in the sky. Looking down at her tanned skin her mothers words over and over in her head.

#IAMBLACK

#HERSTORY

© W O R D B E R R Y

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Do not reproduce in any shape or form…to be released shortly in print.
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PEACE AND LOVE

What kind of influence is this?
Children are canvases that paint their way to adulthood. As a parent I have already prided myself on raising strong, intelligent black men. So, here I was innocently trying to insight a meaningful picture and this is what I got!
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The instructions were simple, I followed them myself…
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“Put your two fingers up son.”
“Like this!”
“Yes son we going to take a peace picture.”
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He shrugs but eventually throws up his dueces….
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Snap.
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As I examine the picture and spot the mistake the words slipped out so easily …..”Oh shit.”
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Horrified my son said “Mum you swore!”
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臘‍♀️#mummymoments #swearjar
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How do you explain to a child that the picture you have just taken is a big FU instead of PEACE AND LOVE. We have to be vigilant in the influences we impart upon our children. I by no means encourage swearing but this is definitely a memory we will laugh at it years to come..
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Sidenote: Although, I realised to late we were saying FU instead of peace sometimes the haters need to hear it twice….✌#peace
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